


Somewhere Less Than Super

by TajaReyul



Category: DCU
Genre: Challenges, DC Day in the Life Challenge, Gen, One Shot, non-Mary Sue self insertion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 08:49:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10827885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TajaReyul/pseuds/TajaReyul
Summary: An ordinary day in the ordinary life of an ordinary person in a super universe.





	Somewhere Less Than Super

**Author's Note:**

> I freely admit that though some characters are based on real people, they are used here fictionally. My interpretations are my own, and do not necessarily reflect the thoughts and opinions of those individuals. This story was written for the DC Day in the Life challenge on LiveJournal. We were supposed to put ourselves in some version of the DC Comics universe, but not Mary Sue/Gary Stu ourselves up. I chose not to have myself interact directly with any DC character, thus the superheroes in the character list are mentions only. This story could fit in the Powerless (2017 TV Show) Fandom, but for the fact it was written about ten years before that show debuted.

It’s Tuesday and I’m running these parts. I’d tell you the part number, but it wouldn’t mean anything to you. Imagine a Connect Four game set on a rectangular base. That’s not exactly what the part looks like, but it’s similar enough for you to get the idea. I have to put a strip of insulating foam with sticky backing, 5x5 millimeters and as long as my arm, around the outer edge of the base. The foam has to line up exactly with the edge. The ends of the foam have to meet up exactly, no gap, no overlap. I have to do one hundred and four of these an hour. I also have to mark each part with an indelible marker to confirm that I put foam on the part. Add in shuffling around full containers, empty containers (and filled and emptied containers), that leaves me less than thirty seconds to do each part.  


What’s amazing is that there are people who can do this part without super-speed. I’m not one of them--not that I have super-speed, you understand.  


So I’m more than a little annoyed when one of the Maintenance guys decides he’s going to stop by my workstation for a little chat. But it doesn’t pay to get snotty with the Maintenance guys. You never know when you’re going to need a quick-and-quiet fix on a piece of machinery that you broke because you weren’t following procedures or paying attention, or whatever. I smile and return his greeting, hoping it’s enough for courtesy’s sake.  


“Didja see that big Justice Society brawl on the news?”  


“Nope. I don’t really watch TV much.” _Go away. Go away,_ I add mentally, hoping that I'd spontaneously developed mind control powers.  


“It was so cool.”  


_Damn._ I keep working while Jake doesn’t obey my mental command and instead launches into a detailed description of the fight in Chicago yesterday between the JSA and the villain du jour. I listen with half an ear and make conversational noises. Even that much slows me down, though. _Super-speed would surely come in handy about now._  


_Amazing speed? Above-average speed?_  


_Fine._  


“…and then Power Girl--man, she’s got a rack on her—she totally demolishes the robot with one punch. I’d like to…”  


“Hey, Jake,” I interrupt, because I really do not care to hear what he'd like to do with or to Power Girl and Her Ridiculous Rack. “Dude, I really need to look like I tried to make rate tonight. Amanda’s been on my ass about talking too much.”  


“Oh, okay. I’ll talk to ya later. Gotta finish building a catch bin for the new press anyway.”  


I nod and smile. He leaves and I pick up my pace again. The damage is done, unfortunately, and by lunch I haven’t made the fifty-four containers worth of parts that I’m supposed to have done in order to make rate.  


We get twenty minutes for lunch and I read the funnies and Dear Abby while I wolf down my sandwich. I ignore the front page with its full-color picture of Wonder Woman visiting the new med school in Grand Rapids. I hate it when people suck up to superheroes to get the photo op. Everyone was so excited when the Wayne Foundation kicked in the extra millions to go along with the VAI and Spectrum money so the project could get off the ground. Stuff like that doesn’t make the front page of our local paper, seventy miles away, though. An Amazon Princess and member of the Justice League visits the region, _that_ makes the front page.  


After lunch, I’m on an easier part. It's an elongated plastic hexagon with a rubber ‘fin’ around the edges. I have to apply two strips of foam, 4x2 millimeters and as long as my forearm just inside the little lip at the edge of the rubber section. Then I have to stick each part in a jig that checks to make sure I’ve placed the foam properly. I have to do seventy-two of these an hour. It’s not quite as difficult as that other part and I’m able to do a few extra to make up for not making rate the first half of my day. I also don’t have a Maintenance guy verbally perving on super-boobs to distract me, which helps.  


It also leaves me time to think my own thoughts. It's funny how I can manage to make rate just fine while letting my mind wander to the far side of the moon and back, but the minute someone talks to me, it all goes to hell. I guess it just takes more effort to interact properly with other people.  


It's not like I learned all those social skills when I was growing up. I didn't have time for friends then. I had a mission. Back then, the Justice League was still pretty new and the Teen Titans were just starting to get some press. Members of the old Justice Society would sometimes come out of retirement for some crisis or another. There was a constant parade of ever more dangerous supervillains.  


I read everything I could find on all of them. I taped news broadcasts for any mention of any costumed adventurer on either side of the law, and I watched those segments until I wore out the tapes. I even asked my parents for a subscription to the _Daily Planet_ for my birthday one year, because Superman was continually on the front page.  


And I waited to get powers of my own. Stupid, huh?  


I worked out to keep in shape because those spandex suits are absolutely unforgiving. I begged my parents to sign me up for martial arts classes, and rented instructional videos when they wouldn't. When other girls studied fashion, hair and makeup tips, I buried myself in mystery and true crime novels. I did everything I could think of to prepare for my eventual, brilliant career as a superhero.  


It never happened. The superhero career, I mean. No freak accident, no mystical boon, not even when those aliens set off that gene bomb. No powers ever manifested for me. Eventually, I had to do something to pay the rent and I ended up in this tedious little factory job.  


By the time I'm done for the day, my fingers are aching from holding the parts and applying the foam at the same time. My knee is sore from sitting still for the better part of eight hours, and I wonder when that started. It's not like I ever received an injury in the line of duty or even by being in the wrong place at the wrong time.  


When I get home, I take the dog for a short walk before heating up a can of soup for my supper. I eat in front of the computer, checking my email between spoonfuls of vegetarian vegetable. There's a message from my sister asking for help making a Halloween costume. After being talked out of her first two choices (Wonder Woman and Supergirl, respectively), my ten year old niece settled on Mary Marvel. With Fawcett City only an hour and a half's drive from where Mel and Hannah live, the third-tier heroine would naturally be high on a list of favorites.  


I'm sure my sister would have preferred her daughter dress up as a princess or a witch or as one of the goddamned Cheetah Girls—anything but a superhero. Melanie had quite enough of capes and cowls when we were growing up. Just her luck, Hannah is turning out to be even more obsessed than her aunt ever was. Still, as bitter and disillusioned as I've become, I don't have the heart to discourage her.  


I send off a quick reply congratulating my sister on deftly dodging the strapless bathing suit vs. belly shirt and miniskirt bullet. (I swear, staying inside their costumes while running, jumping, fighting and flying must be _the_ most common super power for heroines and villainesses.) I refrain from pointing out that next year she might have to talk Hannah out of fishnets if Black Canary gets re-elected chairwoman of the JLA or if Zatanna's Magickal Mystery Tour comes through Kalamazoo. A quick check of my calendar confirms that I'm free the next two weekends (and the following eight, truth be told). I let Mel have her choice for a day of shopping for materials and costume assembly.  


Computer shut down, dishes rinsed, I let the dog into the backyard one last time before getting ready for bed. While I'm brushing my teeth, I catch myself wondering how superheroes manage all those ordinary things we take for granted. It's not like Green Lantern can just drop his uniform off at the dry cleaners. Maybe he uses his ring to clean it, I don't know. I don't suppose it matters anyway. It's not like I'll ever have to worry about personal hygiene on a long mission to another planet or finding a job that overlooks frequent and suspicious absences.  


And as I turn out the light and crawl into bed, I think that I'll have to be okay with that.


End file.
